


These hills we climb

by StealingPennies



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingPennies/pseuds/StealingPennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Becker hovers near death he meets the ghost of the man he replaced in life. But what does Ryan want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	These hills we climb

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted..._

Becker didn’t need to be introduced. He knew Tom Ryan from pictures and anecdotes, from the locker he inherited, hell, even the mug in the rec room he’d made coffee in before knowing better. Meeting him now didn’t seem so strange. If anything Becker was pleased to see a friendly face.

“Guess I’m dead then,” he said, by way of greeting. 

Ryan grinned and settled down cross-legged on the grass beside him. “Who’s to say? I know I am but as far as you’re concerned the jury’s still out. You were mauled pretty bad - going to have some interesting scars to show off come bedtime.”

Becker winced in memory and put a finger to his abdomen. It felt rough and uneven under his touch but there was no actual pain. In fact, there was very little sensation at all, as if he was touching someone else’s skin. 

He could recall shouting to his men to get back and to make sure the civilian field workers were nowhere near danger. He had moved to the rear of the largest segnosaurus with the intent of forcing her towards the anomaly while the remainder of the military team gathered up the rest of the herd including a trio of infants each determined to go in a different direction.

One plaintive cry from a baby segnosaurus and Abby had swung around in distress. The sudden movement had been enough to panic the creature’s mother with predictably disastrous results to nearby buildings and vehicles. As the anomaly had appeared adjacent to a new car lot there was a great many of the latter.

That plan had worked well then. Lester was going to be so pissed. 

Becker supposed it was lucky that he was the only major casualty…death…indeterminately wounded. He still wasn’t quite sure of his current position on the temporal plane, not having any previous experience to compare the situation with. He could ask Ryan but that seemed both rude and intrusive. After all, Becker had pretty much already stolen Ryan’s life. Not that Ryan seemed the type to hold a grudge and it wasn’t as if it was Becker’s fault Ryan had died.

Still, it was pleasant here, after the hurly burly, with the battle lost. Or won. From where he lay on his back on the grass on the hilltop Becker could see green all around, with a few dotted trees and the elegant lines and mathematically-placed chimneys of a Georgian Manor and its associated outbuildings in the middle distance. He breathed in the scent of chamomile and warm grass. The sun was warm on his face. He could sense as much as hear the faint sound of insects buzzing in a low monotonous hum. It would be easy to go to sleep. “It’s nice here,” he said, drowsily. 

Ryan grunted. “It should be. You chose it.”

Becker shut his eyes and let the sun warm his lids. Sleep tugged at him. Still Ryan was here and that must mean something, so probably they should talk. He opened his eyes with an effort and turned his face towards his companion.

“No offence, Ryan, but I’m surprised they sent you.”

“None taken, mate.” Ryan seemed amused. His face was tanned and his blond hair glinted in the sun. He looked the picture of healthy living. “I think you’ll find that it’s you that’s done the sending.”

“Really?” Becker was surprised. Of course Becker had been curious about Ryan. He had spent many hours considering Ryan’s life and what he had been like, but his thoughts had never included actually conversing with the man. He considered the matter for a few moments. “Perhaps it’s because we’re both soldiers and I sort of stepped into your shoes when you..er, you know.”

“Died,” supplied Ryan easily. “Could be.” 

Becker raised himself, first on his elbows and then to an upright position. Ryan uncrossed and re-crossed his legs more comfortably. He placed a hand on each knee and sat loose-limbed but alert.  
“So here I am, Becker, what do you want to talk about?”

“Dying,” said Becker and laughed because it seemed so inconceivable. When he was young he’d believed that dying would be an orgasmic experience and you literally went out with a bang. Two tours in Afghanistan had brought the harsh realisation that death was smoke and blood and shit, often painful and rarely dignified. If you were lucky you were with friends who would be stay with you until the final moments, until you passed on. Alone. Abruptly, he stopped laughing. Ryan’s expression was one of quiet understanding. Becker was grateful that he did not comment. There was no need for words. 

Ryan broke the mood. 

“You couldn’t have conjured a pub for this little rendezvous? I could kill for a pint. No pun intended.” A glass appeared in Ryan’s hand. He raised it to his lips and sipped appreciatively.

“I always wondered about you, you know,” confessed Becker. “Your men were so loyal and obviously missed you a lot. I thought they might resent me. I was afraid I was always second best.”

“You being such an obvious career Rupert?” asked Ryan without rancour. “You underestimate yourself, and them. The men know who’s going to be there for them when it counts.” He chuckled. “Mind you, if I was called Hilary I might have developed a stand-offish manner and kept myself-to-myself a bit too.” He took another sip of beer and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Balmore Hill. It was part of my school grounds - just far enough away from the main buildings that it was safe for cigarettes and blowjobs and whatever drink we could get our hands on. We had picnics here in summer and in the winter if it got cold enough we could go sledging or snowboarding. Then the housemistress would make us hot chocolate and put out big bags of marshmallows and squirty cream to melt on top.”

“Very Enid Blyton,” said Ryan. “I suppose school was nearest thing to home for you. And then the army.”

Becker nodded, still lost in memory. Unlike other children he had hated the holidays. School provided structure and companionship. He had been an army cadet from age 12 onwards. Signing up for a commission had been a natural progression.

Ryan finished his drink and set the glass down on the grass with a muffled thump. Becker refocused on his surroundings. “So can I go anywhere I want? Are you supposed to take me?”

“Like the ghost of fucking Christmas Past?” Ryan shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s how it works. I don’t know you. I have no idea who you would want to see or what your unfinished business might be.”

Becker thought. His past? His family he had long since come to terms with. They would be upset at his death in a detached stiff-upper-lip type way. The dogs would miss him most, pawing at the door and wondering why he never came home. His future? As a professional soldier Becker had trained himself to live for the day and make the most of the present. He rarely imagined a life after retirement. The only templates he had were his family, whose example of frigid respectability he did not wish to replicate, the army, and now the ARC. The army made him feel both useful and needed. The ARC was the same. For all that the field teams were unruly and undisciplined they were absolutely committed to their work and Becker was absolutely committed to protecting them. 

Given a choice Becker would opt for school and now. And here he was, sat amongst the clover and buttercups of Balmore Hill, the most idyllic childhood location he could remember, looking down at his present self. 

At the foot of the hill Becker could see Ditzy leaning over his prone form. The medic raised his right arm and seemed to setting up some kind of drip. Probably Becker was going into shock from loss of blood. He’d seen it in the field plenty of times. The remainder of the men were clustered in groups of two and threes. The medical vehicle had arrived along with another of the ARC’s landrovers. The clean-up team was swinging into action.

“Lester will be pissed,” he said, voicing the earlier thought out loud. 

Ryan snorted. “Lester’s always pissed.”

“True.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” said Becker after a while. 

“About what?”

“Lester. I know you two were close. Ditzy told me how cut up he was over your death. I felt bad taking that from you, as well as everything else, even though you were no longer there.”

Ryan’s expression morphed from puzzled to astonished to faintly horrified. He put his hand out for his now re-filled glass. “Back up a minute, taking what? Lester?”  
Becker nodded.

“You think that Lester and I?” Ryan threw back his head and laughed heartily. “No offence, but there’s not enough lube in the world. Any world. We respected each other professionally and I’ve no doubt he was deeply affected by my death, but as a friend not a fuck. I like my men prettier and a darn sight less prickly.” He paused and eyed Becker consideringly. “But then you’re pretty enough for two and maybe the sarcasm doesn’t bother you.” 

“It doesn’t” said Becker, seizing upon the one thing he could answer easily. He felt a year’s uncertainties crumbling. Ryan was laughing again, but softer this time, almost under his breath. Becker searched for the familiar sense of guilt. It was gone. In its place was a bizarre feeling of anger but whether directed at himself or Ryan or even Lester it was difficult to say.

He had been wrong. He hadn’t usurped Ryan’s whole life. Why hadn’t Lester said something? Possibly something to do with Becker never asking, or the fact that Lester didn’t realise there was anything to say. Stubborn. Awkward. Painfully honest. Becker had barely got to around to admitting what Lester meant to him, when it was all going to be snatched away.

All that time wasted. And now there was no time at all.

Ryan was staring at him again, this time the look was frankly appraising, a grin hovered at the corners of his mouth, threatening to break out.

“What?” asked Becker.

“I was just wondering…” This time Ryan did grin, both lewd and amused.

“Bloody good actually,” said Becker closing the subject because there were some things that you didn’t need to detail exactly to your dead predecessors. Sex with your mutual boss was most definitely one of them.  
“Feeling better now? Confession, contrition and absolution complete?” Ryan had himself back under control. He seemed in no particular rush to move. The pint glass had refilled and emptied for a third time.

“I’m not sure,” said Becker, honestly. “Does it matter?”

Ryan didn’t reply. He lay back on the grass, arms stretched above his head with his ankles crossed. He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I can smell water. I didn’t realise we were near the sea. When I died I found myself at Lake Windermere. Stephen took me sailing there. I’d never been on a catamaran but he was a born teacher. We had a great weekend sailing and shagging. But that was it. Just that one time. Stephen was still beating himself up about Helen. I didn’t want to share. We both made bad choices. When he died I went back there but he didn’t appear. Perhaps I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me. Or perhaps he wasn’t ready. Or maybe you only get one chance and I missed mine.”

“So what do I do now?”

“You’re asking me?” For the first time Ryan sounded bitter. “I’m dead, remember.”

“I’m sorry,” said Becker. “I thought you might have some answers about the afterlife.”

“Answers,” repeated Ryan. He opened his eyes and looked past Becker to a point in the distance. “There is no afterlife. Only before-life. It’s too late for regrets once you’re dead. You get one life. Now fuck off and live it.” The words were harsh but the tone was one again that of amused resignation, that of the Ryan of the rec room or the stories told by his team. The Ryan of Becker’s imagination. “And keep your hands off my mug!”

Becker started to laugh and once started he could not stop until he was choking and coughing and fighting for breath. The sun was fading along with the grass and flowers. There was water on his face and, far from the sea, the gulls were crying. Help me, he tried to say to Ryan, but Ryan had already gone.  
But that no longer mattered. A familiar voice spoke in his ear. Fingers lightly stroked his face, settled firmly round his hand. 

Lester was here.

***

A/N: Huge thanks to Fififolle who provided a brace of commas and the world’s fastest beta. Any horrors left in the text are totally down to me. Ditzy belongs to Fredbassett. Thanks for sharing your OC. This fic is a gift Lukadreaming’s birthday. Her prompts were: Stephen/Ryan or Becker/Lester, Top of the world, Half-cut, Straight to hell. *g* To be honest, when I read them I thought I’d manage something for your next year’s birthday but this just wrote itself. Hope you like it.


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